Amalagation
by Rozen Phoenix
Summary: a·mal·ga·ma·tion     /əˌmælgəˈmeɪʃən/  –noun  1.the act or process of amalgamating.  2.the state or result of being amalgamated.     a·mal·ga·mate     /əˈmælgəˌmeɪt/   –verb   1. to mix or merge so as to make a combination; blend; unite; combine
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer – yeah, don't own HP, whatever._

**A/N - Some of the stuff I may add in might reference Harry Potter fan-stuff, like Very Potter Musical, and Potter Puppet Pals. Just an FYI XD.**

**The rough "time" frame of this scene starts in Book Four, _Goblet of Fire_, somewhere before the Yule Ball. Don't know exact chapter number, but this is after Harry's been told that he's going to have to lead the dance and has somewhat of a spazzy panic attack trying to find a date ^^**

**Chapter One**

* * *

"Why do girls have to travel in packs?" Harry groaned to a silent Ron as a dozen or so girls walked past them, giggling and staring at Harry. "How're you supposed to get one on their own to ask them?"

"I dunno," Ron muttered half-heartedly. He thought for a moment, then suggested, "Lasso one, maybe?"

Harry groaned, ignoring Ron's suggestion. After all, there was no way he'd be able to muster up enough courage to even talk to one, let alone lasso her.

As the people pushed pass, Harry suddenly noticed a commotion somewhere ahead of them. Curiously, he stalked forward, but stopped short. He had seen the unmistakable platinum blonde head of Draco Malfoy.

There on the floor in front of him was a girl Harry didn't know, staring down at her stuff splayed across the floor, as if placidly waiting for this encounter to end. Why wasn't anyone helping her? He examined her clothes carefully, looking for some indication of her House, but found none.

Harry looked around wildly, then silently cursed himself a moment later. What had he been expecting, Moody to come and turn Malfoy into a ferret again? It was already late into lunch, and most of the teachers were either still finishing up a lengthy lunch, or had already returned to their classrooms to prepare for their next classes. He would have to take action himself.

"You think you're so good, don't you now? Walking around as if you were better than the rest of us. Well, your mother was a Mudblood. You've got tainted blood running through your filthy veins," Malfoy sneered. "You're no better than that Potter."

"Lay off, Malfoy," Harry said quietly. Malfoy started and whirled around in place to face him, his sneer slipping a little into a complaisant smile, as if preparing in case it was Moody who had addressed him.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Potter." Malfoy's sneer was once again back, directed contemptuously at Harry's drawn wand. Seriously, it had become a permanent fixture on his face. "What are you going to do about this, hmm? Go cry to your dead parents about it? 'I suppose I get my strength from my parents.' 'I know nothing will hurt me…because they're watching over me.' Rita Skeeter sure said it well, Potter. You sure you don't need a hanky? I can lend you mine, if you want. 'Course, I wouldn't ever want it back, seeing as it's been touched by filth like–"

Rage boiled through Harry, and he whipped out his wand, but there was no need.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, _something_ seemed to hurtle itself at Malfoy, cutting him off short as the wind was knocked from him. He jerked oddly to the side, as if being dragged by the hair, then started wheeling around wildly, but was unable to find his mystery assailant.

Harry stared, slack-jawed and dumb-founded as the thing flew back from Malfoy and almost immediately faded from sight. Whatever it was, it had had a barely visible, but definite form.

"Using illegal spells, are we, Potter," he shrieked, unable to believe that he had been attacked by _nothing_. "You wait until my father hears about this. Oh, you'll be sorry then. I'll–"

"Draco," a familiar, nasty voice rang out. Even without turning around, Harry could tell that this was the loathed, oily voice of Snape.

Malfoy started, took a quick look behind him, then whispered snidely, "You'll get it now, Potter. You'll get exactly what you deserve."

As Snape came within easy earshot, Malfoy began, without preamble, "Sir, Potter here has been throwing around–"

Snape cut him off with a wave of his arm. He cast a contemptuous look around at the crowd that had gathered in the meantime.

"Class is about to begin," he murmured insidiously. The people flinched imperceptibly at his tone and immediately scattered. Within seconds, the halls were empty.

Turning back on the trio, his beady eyes took in the scene, sharply eyeing the girl Malfoy had been bullying, who was still on the floor, eyes downcast. As he swept his eyes across her, slight recognition dawning in his eyes, when suddenly, the girl looked up for the first time, straight into Snape's eyes.

Snape drew in a chocked breath, staring into the girl's eyes, almost as if unable to look away. Harry and Malfoy, both catching Snape's expression, strained to get a look at the girl's eyes as well while shooting dirty looks at each other. However, the girl's back was to both of them, and neither wanted to catch Snape's attention, so they stayed put, curiosity burning within them.

A heartbeat later, Snape suddenly staggered, catching himself before he fell over backwards, unconsciously fiddling with his cloak. He looked around nervously, eyes falling on the two boys, seeming to only just register their presence.

He swiftly snapped to attention, trying to cover his uneasiness.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" he barked, nervously smoothing his cloak. "Don't you have somewhere to go?"

Harry stared uncertainly. Had he heard correctly? Had Snape really just dismissed him without at least assigning him one detention?

Malfoy was gaping at Snape in equal surprise. "But, Sir," he protested. "Potter…"

"Silence," Snape barked. "I will deal with you later."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the girl on the floor stiffen. Something was wrong, seriously wrong, and Snape was too worked up to notice. Thinking fast, he made his decision, pushing past Snape and diving for the floor. He managed to catch her just before she collapsed completely to the floor.

"How dare–" the words died as he whirled around and saw the girl unconscious in Harry's arms. His beady eyes quickly reassessed the situation. A split second later, he was on the floor besides her and had shoved Harry aside.

Harry gaped at him. Snape had scooped her out of his arms with a gentleness that Harry had never seen in him before. He shook himself slightly, then scrambled to his feet. By the time he was vertical, Snape had already swept around and started heading down the hall.

"We need to get her to Professor Dumbledore's office immediately," he stated, forestalling any questions.

"Severus," an imposing voice rang out. Harry whirled around to see Dumbledore's approaching shape. Relief flooded through him.

Dumbledore eyed the scene sharply. "Is there a problem?" he asked amiably.

"Headmaster…" Snape said in surprise, turning around carefully so as to not jostle the girl. "I was just taking Hestia to your office. You said that…" trailed away.

"'If anything happened to her, you must bring her to me immediately,' Yes, I see you were about to do just that. However, seeing as I am here already, there is no need for you to accompany. Go deal with Draco there in the corner. I shall take Harry with me," he said warmly, his tone clearly that of someone refusing to be drawn into an argument. Snape looked uncertain for a moment, then unwillingly handed the unconscious girl – Hestia – into Dumbledore's waiting arms. He carried her easily for a man of his age.

"_Go_," he said, a little bit more forcefully when Snape hesitated.

Snape collected himself, inclined his head towards Dumbledore, then rounded on Malfoy. Dumbledore watched the pair disappear around the corner before turning to Harry.

"Harry, this is Hestia Baronova. I'll tell you more about her later, but right now, I want you to know that she has prophetic powers. The problem is, she only speaks in Parseltongue, and while I do know a bit of this very intriguing language, my linguistic skills in this area are by no means the best. Since you are here, I would like you to act as interpreter." He looked down at Harry pensively. Harry shuffled uncomfortably under Dumbledore's intense scrutiny.

"Right now," Dumbledore finally added casually. "She tends to speak somewhat quickly at times. Do your best and catch as much of it as you can."

Harry jolted. "But…" he stammered. "But, Sir! How do you know she…"

"Because I know the warning signs," Dumbledore interrupted. "This kind of thing has obviously happened before. Now, quiet. I'm sure that this is of the utmost import."

Harry stared at the unconscious girl in Dumbledore's arms, almost as if he could will her to talk with the strength of his gaze.

Suddenly, her eyes shot open. Harry jerked back in surprise. The milky quality of her ianthine eyes he had glimpsed earlier was gone, replaced with an intense royal purple that seemed to be able to see right through him.

Harry felt a chill pass through him. For a moment, he entertained the wild idea that maybe she _was_ looking through him, into his mind, his very soul. _Don't be ridiculous_, he scolded himself. He didn't feel very reassured.

A shudder passed through the girl – _Hestia_, he reminded himself. A resounding voice issued from her mouth, melodious and ringing. He gaped in wonder. It was a voice unlike any he had heard before, a voice so filled with the authority of ages that each word seemed to carry the weight of destiny.

He shook himself slightly, remembering just in time to listen for the words she was saying. Oddly enough, it seemed that she really was speaking in Parseltongue. He could hear the unmistakable weird hissing quality weaving through the harmony of her voice.

_Two alive shall go yonder where Truth lies  
But only One shall tell the tale,  
Live witness to vile rebirth.  
One and one, and One for one, yet unequal trade,  
For value lies not in quantity:  
Gold out-values base lead.  
While happiness and joy reigns throughout,  
Death and despair shall take root  
Through that, shall destruction thrive  
Till at its root, the One shall strike._

Finishing, her mouth snapped close and she fell limp and seemed to lapse into a deep sleep.

Harry stared at Dumbledore in wonder.

"But…" he managed through numb lips. "What did that mean?"

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**A/N – After coming back from a rather long hiatus, I've decided to rewrite part of this! Actually, this is mostly spurred by my finding some old notes that I had lost when I actually wrote this chap out. Hopefully the new version will be much better planned, and stuff. (Wow, that was terrible grammar…)**

**So yeah. Please R&R. I'd be glad to accept almost anything: questions, comments, concerns, etc. The whole "I really enjoyed this chapter; please keep writing/update soon" type comments are certainly accepted, but they're not really helpful in the long run and tell me nothing of what you really thought. I enjoy details, and like any other author, positive comments help keep me alive.**

**Remember – you flame me, I'll probably ignore you completely and just go on with life XD. I welcome suggestions always.**

**Another thing; once I get started up with all of this again, I'll try to update at least once a month. And maybe eventually come up with a better title for this story… DIGRESSION HAS OCCURRED.**


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer – these things are getting kind of old now, huh? But yeah. Don't own HP, the series, its plot, characters, and other miscellaneous concepts_.

**CHAPTER TWO**

* * *

Harry sat numbly in Dumbledore's office. He replayed the words in his mind, trying to find meaning within the cryptic riddle, but came out no better.

Dumbledore alternated gazing at him pensively from across his desk and glancing at the prone figure on the conjured divan nearby. He paused a moment, then began speaking.

"I take it," he said somewhat dryly. "That you have no idea what that meant, either. I suppose we'll have to wait until she wakes up, but there's a high chance she won't know what it means either. Only time will tell, I guess. "

Harry said nothing and continued to stare at his hands folded in his lap. "The One…" Oh, he knew who that referred to. There was no way he couldn't know, what with half the wizarding world calling him "The Chosen One." There was no way Dumbledore couldn't know either. Did he really not know, or did he purposely lie?

But either way, they didn't have to wait long. The girl stirred and pushed herself up unsteadily. Her eyes were once again the same cloudy lavender that he had glimpsed earlier.

Dumbledore noticed his slight movement and turned to face her.

"Ah, Hestia!" he exclaimed joyfully. "I've got the Pensieve here prepared with Harry's memory – I, of course, was not there to witness it this time. If you please, could you perhaps shed some light upon– "

"No need," she interrupted. Her voice was chilling, oddly cadenced with an accent that Harry couldn't quite place. He thought for a moment that it might be Slavic, but the more he tried to place it, the more confused he got. In the end he just gave up.

"I remember what I said," Hestia continued, interrupting Harry's internal reverie. Dumbledore looked amazed.

"You remember? But...Well, this is the first time, is it not?" he asked, recovering slightly from his shock.

"Two alive shall go yonder where Truth lies," Hestia recited. "But only One shall tell the tale,/Live witness to vile rebirth./One and one, and One for one, yet unequal trade,/For value lies not in quantity:/Gold out-values base lead./While happiness and joy reigns throughout,/Death and despair shall take root/Through that, shall destruction thrive/Till at its root, the One shall strike." She paused for breath. "Yeah. I remember it."

Not waiting for any prompting, she continued, "Naturally, you'll want an explanation. I only know what part of it means," she said when Dumbledore opened his mouth to ask. "However, here's what I do know. He's coming back. Voldemort, that is. He's coming back, and I have no idea when. It could be in two days. It could be in two years. For all I know, it could be in two decades, but I feel like it's going to happen in the near-future. But I apologize. I have stolen Sybil's thunder. No one is going to believe you," she said suddenly, her voice taking on a bit of the resounding quality from before. "No one is going to believe you for years. You will suffer at the hand of those who would seek to put you down, but in the end, you will win." Her voice resumed her natural quality as she continued, "I have no idea which of you that was addressed to. Probably both, since I doubt either of you would remain silent. "

Harry gaped at her, his mind reeling. Everything was happening so fast that he was having trouble keeping up. His mind tried to find something to concentrate on and settled for what he remembered of the prophecy this girl had uttered before.

"Wait a mo," he cut in suddenly as it dawned on him. "Who's going to die."

Hestia and Dumbledore both turned towards him. "What?" Dumbledore asked quizzically.

"Who's going to die?" Harry repeated. He turned to face Hestia. "You said...You said 'two shall go' but only 'one shall tell the tale...' That means someone's going to die, doesn't it?"

Hestia stared at him with her sightless eyes. "Well perceived," she said, her tone unchanged. "Indeed, I see that someone will die. Someone close to you. I'm not sure if it means physically close or those you are emotionally close to, your good friends. I'd actually be betting on the latter, although your close friends will probably also be physically close to you. That's all I can tell you."

Harry collapsed into the chair he'd been sitting on before. Someone close to him was going to die. Someone close to him was going to die. The thought echoed in his head and refused to go away.

"Is there…" he began hoarsely. "Is there any way to prevent that from happening? To prevent this person close to me from dying?"

Hestia turned her sightless eyes on him. Harry suppressed a shudder; those eyes seemed to bore right through him. Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair behind his desk, carefully scrutinizing the two of them. The entire room seemed to still.

"No," she said eventually, her cold voice cutting into the silence that had fallen.

Harry flinched at the sound. Her voiced seemed to ring in the cavernous office.

"What… What do you mean, 'no?'" he stammered.

Hestia's stare seemed to intensify. "'No' means 'no.' There is no way for you to prevent this person's death. Not the way you are. Not the way you will become. It is impossible for you. Unless…"

Harry's breath caught in his throat. "Unless?"

Hestia's eyes bored into him. "You die."

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**A/N - Because I felt like it. Anyway, yeah, long hiatus, please R&R, if there's still anyone reading this…**

**Ehh...didn't notice until now. Short chapter, huh?**


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